


Death's Best Man

by deliciously_devient



Series: Death's Best Man [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff I guess, Hellhounds, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform, power exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:58:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10314851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciously_devient/pseuds/deliciously_devient
Summary: Jesse is fifteen years old when he earns a favor from Death.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is sort of an exploration of Jesse's Deadeye ult, but in a universe where the supernatural exist. There WILL be eventual McHanzo, but at least a couple chapters in. So if you like what it is so far, let me know and also offer suggestions of creatures you might like to see Jesse react to!

Jesse McCree is fifteen years old when he earns a favor from death.

 

The night is late and the streets of Santa Fe are quiet, empty save a few walking home from the closing bars. It's pure chance that Jesse happens to walk by the scene unfolding, and even though he normally tries to keep to himself, what he sees isn't something he can just let lie.

 

There are three men, two holding the arms of a woman with red, red hair, and the third is pressing the button of what appears to be a shock collar control. The collar in question is fastened around the woman's throat, and she arches, face twisted in pain, but the only sound escaping her is a soft grunt.

 

Jesse's hand twitches to his hip, where his newly acquired gun is sitting, fingers fluttering, ready to draw.

 

"Hey!" he shouts, with more bravado than he feels. He nearly backs down when four sets of red, red eyes turn on him, but he holds his ground. "I reckon three men don't got no business holding a lady like that. Why don't you just let her go?"

 

The man holding the shock collar -and he still hasn't let up on that button, the woman still twisted in pain- scoffs at him.

 

"Beat it kid. This don't concern you," he snarls, and something about his voice makes fear, deep and primal, blossom in Jesse's chest. There's something....inhuman about the lot of them, these four people with red, red eyes in a back alley in Santa Fe. Something whispers that perhaps Jesse should just hightail it outta there while he's still got the chance. 

 

But something in his gut tells him that if he does, that'll be the last night the lady ever has, and he can't in good conscious just leave her to her fate. He doesn't know her, but there's something in her eyes, something pleading, and they'd haunt him for sure. 

 

Jesse always thought of himself as a try to work things out kinda guy, but in this instance, he makes a different decision.

 

A few things happen all at once.

 

Jesse draws his gun. He shoots, not at any of the men, but at the controller the first man is holding. The effect on the woman is almost instant, and she's throwing off the two bigger men with an inhuman ease, the two of them going flying into the alley walls.

 

They don’t get back up.

 

Then the woman and the man are fighting, and it’s quick, vicious, too fast for Jesse's eyes to follow. And then the man’s head comes flying off his body, his knees hitting the ground while his dome spins to a stop near Jesse's feet.

 

Jesse looks up to see the woman swaying, clutching at her stomach. She falls to her knees, and Jesse finds himself rushing forward, catching her before she falls the rest of the way.

 

"Thanks, kid," she mutters, but her voice is raw, her eyes glassy. There's so much blood, everywhere, spreading along her stomach, leaking from the corner of her mouth. 

 

It looks like this was her last night anyway.

 

"Look, hold on, I'm calling an ambulance," he said, fishing his phone from his pocket. Her bloody hands bat it away, and she shakes her head where it rests in his lap.

 

"No, no. It ain't worth it. I'm a goner," she says, but she smiles up at Jesse, as though her teeth aren't red, red, like her eyes, like her hair, like the blood slowly leaking everywhere. "You're a good, good kid. No one woulda did what you did tonight," she rasps. 

 

Jesse stares at her dumbly, unable to figure out what to say, definitely not agreeing with her -he'd tried to save her, and what had happened?- but helpless in the face of death.

 

"I owe ya one, kid. But, it'll be a while afore I can pay ya back proper," she rasps, slow and deliberate, as if words are hard to recall. "But my friend, my friend'll do ya one, for me."

 

"I don't need no favor. I didn't do nothin' special," Jesse protests, but the woman just shakes her head.

 

"Ya did. Your heart was in the right place," she insisted. "You're a good kid. Now, now, here's whatcha need to do, ta get yer favor, listen careful," she said, tapping Jesse's ear with a bloody, unsteady hand. Jesse nodded, figuring he'd humor the dying woman’s wish.

 

"On a full moon, just around midnight, drive out to a crossroads. Should be a nice, secluded one. Ya might have to wait a bit, but he'll show up. He'll ask ya what ya want. You tell him you want a deal. When he asks what you can offer, tell 'im you'll take a favor off a seven year debt for a friend."

 

Jesse frowned, opened his mouth to ask question, to urge for an ambulance or something, but bloodied fingers stilled his lips.

 

"Yer a good kid, Jesse McCree," she murmured, her voice fading. "Ya got a good heart. Don't go forgetting that."

 

He watches the light fade from her eyes, an agony brewing in his chest over his helplessness. He wraps one of her thin, bloodied hands in two of his own, rocking back and forth slowly in an attempt to comfort them both. She doesn’t speak anymore, as he watches the life drain from her, but when the last breath leaves and her heart stills, there’s a small smile on her face.

 

After, he goes through her pockets, looking for some kind of ID or something. He finds a phone, and calls the most recently dialed number, a name labeled Demetri.

 

“It’s two in the fuckin’ mornin’, Jessibel, you better have a damn good reason for callin’,” a gruff, sleep rough voice growls.

  
  


Jesse’s voice catches in his throat, and he isn’t sure how to start. Hey, you don’t know me, but I just watch your friend get gutted and die?

 

“Ah, I, uh,” he starts, swallowing hard as he looks down at his red, red hands. “She. Uh. She ain’t able to come ta th’ phone right now. I picked it up and called cuz yer number was the last one called,” he finished.

 

“Who the fuck are you? Where is she?” the voice demands, the anger now more pronounced, the edge of panic clear in it.

 

“M’ name’s Jesse,” he says quietly. “I...are you her friend?”

 

“Listen, mutt,” the voice growls. “You better fucking tell me what the fuck is going on. Where is Jessibel?”

 

“She...she ain’t doing so hot.” Jesse said, tongue thick in his mouth. “I saw some guys roughin’ her up in an alley and I tried to help but...I weren’t much good,” his voice breaks on the last words, and he finds tears dripping down his cheeks.

 

“Where?” the voice demands, and Jesse’s rattling off the streets before he can think better of it.

 

In moments, there’s footsteps, and Jesse looks up to see a tall man, head bald and face twisted as he catches sight of the dead woman still in Jesse’s arms.

 

“What happened?” he demands, and Jesse, slowly, stutters out the events of the last few hours. The man kneels beside him when he’s finished, his large, scarred hands cupping the woman’s -Jessibel’s- cheek, his eyes soft and sad. “Oh, Jess,” he whispers. “I wasn’t ready this time. You’re always going where I can’t follow.”

 

Jesse’s silent, watching the man stare down at the woman he only knew for moments, but is somehow, incredibly, attached to. He feels cheated, somehow, as if he were supposed to know her, and now he’ll never get to.

 

The man turns his dark eyes on Jesse, and his expression is strange, indecipherable. “You stayed with her, in her last minutes?” he asked, and Jesse nodded, numbly.

 

“Good. She hates dying alone,” the man murmurs, and then he’s taking her from Jesse’s loose grip, scooping her body up with tender care. He looks down at Jesse for a few more moments, and nods, as if finding something he wanted to see.

 

“If she gave you a favor, I expect you to make good use of it,” he says, voice flat. “Favors are a rare thing, anymore, at least the kind she gives out. Don’t waste it.”

 

Confused, Jesse only nods as he watches the man turn and seem to vanish into smoke, before completely disappearing, along with the body of the woman McCree thinks might have been a good friend.

 

It isn’t until much later, when he’s washed off the blood and had time to process the whole event, that he realizes he never told Jessibel his name.

**

 

The next full moon finds Jesse at a crossroads on the Route 66, sitting astride a stolen bike, wrapped in a leather jacket to keep the chill at bay. The day had been blazingly hot, nearly unbearable, but the night in the desert was always cold. His breath came in soft huffs, and he thought for a moment he looked like a dragon.

It was nearing one thirty, and he’s been sitting out here for about two hours. He’s just about to call it quits and put the whole fantasy behind him when he hears footsteps, and nearly jumps out of his skin, turning around and drawing his pistol in an instinctive moment of terror.

 

Behind him is a man in torn jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt, his long purple hair tied in a fishtail braid along his shoulder. His outline is fuzzy at the edges, and no amount of blinking will make his face resolve into any kind of discernible shape. Come to think about, Jesse’s not entirely sure it’s a man standing there at all.

 

“Jesse McCree,” the man says, and Jesse swallows. The voice is deep and high at the same time, a soft whisper and a thundering shout, something that reverberates through his chest and makes him feel both terrified and perfectly at peace. “What brings you to my domain, young one? You aren’t on my list yet.”

 

Jesse swallows, searching for the words the woman had given him. “I want a deal,” he said softly.

 

The man tilts his head to the side, smiling. “Oh? And what can you offer Death that will not come to me in time?”

 

“A favor off a seven year debt from a friend,” he repeated from memory, watching the man still, shoulders slumping as sadness seemed to overtake him.

 

“Ah,” he said softly. “What is it you desire, then, friend of a friend?”

 

Jesse hadn’t really thought this far, and his mind went blank. His hand tightened around the grip of his gun, and a thought sprung into his mind.

 

“I don’t want to miss,” he said, nodding to himself. “If I’ve got bullets and I’ve got enemies, I don’t want to miss, ever.”

 

The man nods once, smiling. “Remember, everything comes with a price,” he murmured as he walked closer, and Jesse was suddenly frozen, unable to move, breathe or blink, as two long, thin fingers touched his iris’.

 

Suddenly, the world  _ shifted,  _ and something like an overlay slid over it, a thin layer of static that revealed things there that he had previously not seen.

 

“A piece of advice for you, cowboy,” the man said. “You’ve been given a gift, but you were not born into the world you see now. If things notice you noticing them… well, just keep the philosophy of not noticing anything that you wouldn’t have noticed before.”

 

And with that, he’s gone, as if he had never been, but Jesse is in a whole new world, giant creatures in the distance that he’d never noticed before suddenly revealed. He swallowed, holstered his gun, and stared down at his bike.

 

He wasn’t sure if he would make it through this, but he would try.

  
  



End file.
